


Protege

by ProlixEllipsis



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Almost Entirely Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProlixEllipsis/pseuds/ProlixEllipsis
Summary: Four ways a lost boy could have found a place to call home.





	1. P.R. Works Wonders

Nicholas St. North has many names, sobriquets exchanged readily all over the world, and all of them associated with wonder and happiness, a belief base so strong it can take him around the globe in one night.  So no, North does not need a PR campaign, but he thinks that perhaps this lost little sprite just might, this boy who peeks into the workshop’s windows with all the wonder of any child, who paints patterns on the panes and layers lake ice so thick it never cracks till spring. 

 

Good thing, then, that Jack Frost keeps making his way to the workshop (for what’s a little trespassing between friends)!  It is best, after all, for children to keep busy – nothing puts more names on the naughty list than boredom!

 

North thinks on how to approach Jack’s problem for some time, but in his own way, it’s Jack who finally cracks the puzzle.  With inspiration in the form of a particularly _challenging_ blizzard on Christmas Eve, North begins telling tales about a plucky reindeer with a red nose and a playful boy who calls the snow.  He’s pleased when they catch on, when people begin to elaborate the stories and spin their own variations.  Soon, the snow sprite begins to show up in tales of his own, facing off against the likes of the Snow Queen and courting Snegurochka. 

 

North isn’t surprised when Jack Frost shows up at the door instead of the window one day, knocking instead of sneaking, eyes wide and wet, full of questions and tremulous hope.  He does not have a toy prepared for this guest, who never fails to appear at the top of the naughty list, but North takes joy in _giving_ , and not all gifts are toys.  Besides, now that the children Jack Frost watches over each winter can actually see him, perhaps he will not appear on the naughty list _every_ year… 

 

North doubts it, though.  After all, where would be the fun in that?


	2. O What Dreams!

Sandy finds the child in London.

 

He’s drawn down from his cloud by a strange dream in a strange place, and finds the dreamer responsible fast asleep during a theatre performance, causing a terrible draft on what would otherwise be a balmy summer night for the patrons seated at either side of him in the gallery.  The woman on his left looks almost cozy in her ermine stole, but self-consciously rubs together silk-gloved hands.  The man on his right, dressed in a staid but well-tailored suit and damaging a fine pipe with the hard clench of his jaw, stares sourly down at the actors but spares several longing looks to the flames in the wall sconces.  The boy sits tucked into the space between the strangers, not close enough to touch but placed like he belongs, like part of a rather stiff family portrait.  Of course, the blue-tinged skin and frost-white hair stand out starkly.  And then there’s the matter of his clothes – too much like the children Sandy sees shivering on the streets at night, too worn and thin to shield their owner from even a stiff breeze. All of this gives him away as an outsider to anyone with eyes.

 

Well, to anyone with eyes that can _see_ him, and Sandy suspects that list is woefully brief. 

 

Although the play on stage seems to have bored the boy into slumber, he dreams of Shakespeare, turning tragedies into silly things and granting everyone happy endings.  The dream that takes form from the child’s thoughts is a delight to watch, a masterpiece, decades of experience rendered childlike and innocent.  It’s engrossing enough that he has a hard time pulling away, lingering until the action on stage ends and the audience bursts into a thunderous round of applause.  It jolts the slumbering boy straight from his sleep and without quite shedding the sand from his eyes, he’s jumping up and joining in with even more gusto than the humans around him.  The sudden strangeness of it is enough to send Sandy to the floor in a fit of silent laughter.  It’s only then that the boy takes notice of him and his hands still, blue eyes widening in awe.

 

Awe veers into agony as the theatregoers begin shuffling toward the exits and, distracted as he is, the sprite fails to move with them.  The woman in ermine walks right through the boy who’d pretended to be her son for the evening.  She does so with only a slight shiver to show for it compared to the utter desolation that’s taken over the frost spirit’s face.  Within a blink (and not many know that is the Sandman’ specialty), Sandy has his hand on the boy’s shoulder, grounding him, and he endures the pain of being passed through right along with him as this evening’s pretend-parents make their exit.  The winter sprite looks at Manny like he hung the moon and Sandy blushes, a splash of burnished gold against his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, even as his heart aches for how much such a small gesture clearly meant to this lonely soul.  He offers the boy a kind, sad smile and drifts upward, toward the window he entered from.  After all, this break from his rounds has been long enough.  The Sandman’s work is never done.  The boy follows him, still silent, perhaps following Sandy’s lead, and Manny doesn’t mind his new, smiling shadow in the slightest.  It is nice, after all, to have a bit of company from time to time, and if the towns the sandman visits personally all see snow days for the next few weeks or so (even the tropical ones), well, it’s good to change up routines once in a while. 

 

Indeed, it is only once Jack’s dreams begin to revolve singularly around snowball battles and ice skating that Sandy gently prods Jack Frost back to his own duties (because children need _children_ for company, and they tend to be tucked up tight and asleep at night when the Sandman makes his rounds).

 

There is an open invitation to return, of course.  Sandy sees the boy off with a hug that could knock the wind out of North and the assurance that he can follow the sand to find him anytime.

 

In the years that follow, Jack takes him up on the offer often, for naps beneath the stars, for long chats about everything from _Twelfth Night_ to toasters, and sometimes just to sit in silence, basking in the glow of dreamsand and the warmth of good company.  Sandy’s always glad to have him.

 

Jack Frost is a very unique child, one with old knowledge and young eyes, with endless energy and a deep sadness that Sandy knows dreams alone cannot soothe.  He has a talent for making unhappiness _less_ so, for making the cold and wet of winter friendly and inviting.  He has dreams so beautiful sometimes that it hurts him to wake up.

 

Sandy hopes he will gain belief soon, but in the meantime, he has certainly gained a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the longest chapter goes to the quietest character.


	3. Por Te

Tooth may not be out in the field, well, pretty much ever these days, but she has eyes (and wings!) everywhere, and her fairies are rather assiduous about reporting any anomalous weather that could potentially interfere with retrieval missions (like snow days in San Juan, _Puerto Rico_ ).  They’re also rather diligent about reporting perfect teeth, even if they’re still inside someone’s mouth.

 

So yes, Toothiana’s heard a great deal about Jack Frost.  Enough that, by now, there is a crystal-clear picture of him in her mind, though they’ve never met, and it’s an uncanny match for another image in her flawless memory – a smaller portrait, painted in warmer shades, but the _smile_ is unmistakable. 

 

Over the decades, Tooth’s gotten to know a lot about Jack Frost without ever meeting him – how his teeth positively sparkle, and shine, and twinkle like _freshly fallen snow_ , the rakish tilt of his grin when a special brand of snowflake is bound to bring about laughter, that his smile never falls faster than when a child passes through him, that the moon gave him the name _Frost_ …

 

But she suspects it was his mother who first named him _Jack_ , and if she’s right, it’s about time she got back into the field and this lost boy got to know himself.

 

She grinned, wings fluttering in frenzied anticipation.  She couldn’t wait to see that smile in person!


	4. A General Education

Bunny is all about hope, about spring and warmth and renewal, so it goes without saying that he doesn’t typically concern himself with winter’s chill beyond warding it off when the appointed time rolls around.  However, one particular winter sprite has begun requiring quite a lot more warding than the rest, and after this most recent stunt – a bloody _blizzard_ of all things, and far too close to Bunny’s holiday – well, Aster’s had it up to his ears with the lingering spectre of one Jack Frost.

 

Bunny’s a busy pooka, but _somebody_ has to teach these young upstarts a lesson, and though he’s angry enough to wish a boomerang to the back of the head would do, he’s seen boys like this before.  Negative attention just gets them _going_.  “Bad eggs” some might call them, but Bunny knows better.  As much as it pains him, this boy and those of his ilk have just given up _hope_.  They’ve given up on earning praise or appreciation and decided annoyance will do, that even if they’re never recognized for anything good, being recognized makes it _good enough_.

 

Except it’s not, of course.  Not for Bunnymund, at least.  So, busy schedule or not, he’s got to handle this the slow and steady way.  (And _strewth_ , he never thought he’d say that.  He supposes he’ll have to fork over a fiva’ to that old tortoise next time they cross paths.)

 

After seeing Easter safely through for another year, Bunny begins keeping an ear to the ground for news on Jack Frost.

 

When anyone asks, he claims it’s more practical to keep a steady eye on troublemakers than a weather eye out for them, but the truth of the matter is simpler than that.  E. Aster Bunnymund doesn’t believe in bad eggs, and nobody gives up hope on his watch.


End file.
